The Corpse on the Court

‘I may never be.’

‘You will if you stay with Piers. No way he’d tolerate having a girlfriend who didn’t play real tennis.’

‘Well, we’ll see.’

‘Anyway, if it’s not about tennis, to what do I owe the pleasure of your call?’

‘It’s to do with something Oenone Playfair said to me.’

‘Oh? How is the poor darling? She must be in a terrible state. In spite of the rather cavalier way Reggie treated her at times, the pair of them were absolutely devoted to each other. I’ve been meaning to write to Oenone, but I keep procrastinating. Difficult to put into words what you feel for a bloke like Reggie. Poor old bugger.’ Jude was beginning to wonder whether those three words would be what ended up carved on Reggie Playfair’s tombstone.

‘Oenone and I were talking about Reggie’s interest in ghosts.’

‘I didn’t know the old reprobate had an interest in ghosts.’

‘Well, apparently he did, and Oenone was wondering whether that might have had something to do with why he had gone to the court that Wednesday morning.’

‘Really?’ For the first time there seemed to be a note of caution in Tom Ruthven’s voice.

‘Well, do you have any idea why he might have been there?’ It was worth asking.

But she didn’t get much by way of return. Tom Ruthven replied rather woodenly that perhaps Reggie had left something behind after his unexpected exit from the Sec’s Cup.

‘Oenone said he definitely hadn’t.’

‘Then I’ve no idea why he might have been there.’ The old man’s tone made it clear they’d come to the end of that particular line of questioning. Once again Jude got a sense of closing ranks. The men who played at Lockleigh House tennis court looked after their own. They might entertain their own suspicions about what Reggie Playfair had been doing, but they were not about to share them with anyone else.

‘Going back to the ghosts, though. .’

‘Yes, Jude.’ Tom Ruthven sounded relieved that the conversation had moved on.

‘Oenone said you’d once mentioned some ghostly sighting at Lockleigh House, or the tennis court or somewhere around. Does that ring any bells?’

‘Distantly. Oh, goodness, that was years ago. I’m surprised she remembers that far back. It was something I was told by some relative of mine called Cecil. I can never remember whether he’s my great-uncle or second cousin. Cecil’s a Wardock.’

‘Oh, from the family who built Lockleigh House?’

‘Yes. So I might have some connection to them as well, though I’m not sure what. Some ancestor of mine married into the Wardocks, I think, but I’ve never bothered to check the details. Yes, Cecil did tell me some vague story about a ghost, a woman who topped herself, I can’t remember the details.’

‘Might Cecil himself remember them? That is, if he’s still around.’

‘Oh yes, he is still around. Just. Mind you, he’s seriously old.’

Coming from a man in his eighties, Jude wondered just how old that might be.

‘Is there any way of contacting him?’

Tom Ruthven chuckled. ‘Well, that couldn’t be easier.’

‘Oh?’

‘Cecil is an inmate — no, that’s not what they call them — he’s a resident, that’s right, of Lockleigh House. You know it’s now an old people’s home?’

‘Of course. And is he still. .?’ Jude hesitated.

‘Compos mentis, is that what you’re asking? Well, the old marbles roll about a bit, but on a good day he’s still got most of them. I go to see him from time to time, what with him being a relative. Not as often as I should.’

‘Would it be possible to introduce me to him?’

‘What, to talk about his Lockleigh House ghost story?’

‘Yes.’

‘The old boy’d love it. Nothing he likes better than maundering on about the past. Particularly maundering to ladies.’

‘When could it be arranged?’

‘Well, when I visit him, it tends to be on a Saturday. Would tomorrow be too soon for you?’

‘No,’ replied Jude. ‘It wouldn’t be too soon at all.’

That afternoon, as she was folding up her treatment table, Jude felt pleasantly exhausted. Exhausted because healing always took more out of her than she could ever possibly explain to someone who hadn’t had the experience. And pleasantly so, because the session she had just finished had been successful. The client had been a high-flying female solicitor who had suddenly been struck down by ME. This was the third session she had had and she was now finally beginning to recognize the fact that she was genuinely ill. She was coming to accept that her sudden inability to function was not her fault. The woman was by no means cured — that would take a long time — but Jude felt they had made a start on the road to a cure.

She was about to go upstairs to wash away her weariness in a bath with aromatic oils when the phone rang.

‘Hello?’

‘Ah, is that Jude?’ Another elderly man’s voice, pernickety like a stage lawyer. She could not immediately place the speaker, but he was quickly identified for her. ‘I’m Jonty Westmacott. We met at the tennis court on Wednesday.’

‘Yes, of course. And at the Lockleigh Arms.’

‘Mm.’ He hesitated, ordering his thoughts. ‘I hear from Tom Ruthven that you’ve been enquiring about Reggie Playfair’s death.’ Once again Jude was struck by how quickly news spread in the world of real tennis.

‘Yes.’

‘Is that because you think he may have been murdered?’

Jude was quick to deny that she had ever considered such a thing, although of course it had been her first thought.

‘Hm. Well, I wouldn’t be too sure about that.’

‘Jonty, are you saying you think he was murdered?’

‘It wouldn’t surprise me.’

‘Why not? Is there some information you have that makes you say that?’

‘More suspicion than information. I mean, everyone in the Lockleigh House club knew that Reggie had a weak heart.’

‘Yes.’

‘So anyone could have lured him down to the court and given him some terrible shock there, which would have been enough to give him another heart attack, a big final one.’

Jude was intrigued. ‘Yes, that could have happened. But the major questions that raises are: who lured him down to the court? And: why did they want to kill him?’

‘Yes, those are the major questions, I agree.’

These words were spoken with an air of finality, and there was a silence before Jude asked, ‘And do you have an answer to them, Jonty?’

‘Oh, no. But I got the impression from Tom that you were some kind of investigator.’

‘Well, not in any professional way.’

‘Professional or amateur, if you’re an investigator, then you’ve got to investigate.’

‘Ye-es.’

‘So let me know when you come up with something.’

‘Yes, of course I will. But, Jonty, just to check again. . You do genuinely believe that Reggie Playfair was murdered?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I ask why?’

‘I have an instinct for these things.’

It wasn’t the most helpful answer that had ever been given to an investigator, professional or amateur. But